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There is a light that never goes out.
Thank you very much, The Smiths.
It's during sleepless nights like this when I have the strongest desire to drive away to some place and just escape. I want to explore the night, turn up the speakers, take in the city lights, soak myself in the culture. I want to leave with no direction in mind, run away with no plans, go out with uncertainty. I want to be someplace else where I can lurk in the dark, with no one knowing who I am, where I can be someone else other than myself.
I want to read poetry in a dimly lit cafe; to make tangible the words I've written in my journal during my most vulnerable moments. Would they make more sense said out loud, when other ears finally take a hold of them? Or would they shatter into pieces and lose their very essence? I would throw my words to the universe and pray that they come back to me one day after everything else has fallen into their places.
I want to vandalize on walls along main avenues, painting out song lyrics that speak so much about the things we can't normally say. It'd exhilarating, writing them out for all the world to see, and it'd be thrilling, the possibility of getting caught. There would be a curious excitement in me, wondering if there is anyone out there who relates to the song the same way I do.
I want to sit in one corner of a bar with a lively underground band playing songs with mundane words about life and love. I would desperately try to figure them out as I ask the bartender for my third martini. I would then walk upstage voluntarily when they ask if anyone wants to sing along to their cover of The Cure's Pictures of You, only to position myself on the piano and completely upstaging the band.
I want to dance on stage and be a ballerina again. On my toes I'd be doing pirouettes in Swan Lake, swaying gracefully to the music of Tschaikovsky. With only my body as my instrument of interaction, I would weep as Odette with no tears, I would enrage as Odile with no screams. The curtains would rise and fall and in every scene I would be a different persona, traipsing from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other.
I want to feel sand in between my toes as I walk along the shores of the beach. The moon would shine its glow on me, calling me out onto the sea as if I was her daughter. I would dip my feet into the water, resisting the urge to jump in at first but only to find myself giving in to the call of the waves. It would be dark and mysterious but the allure of the unknown would entice me and I would find myself calmed in the ocean.
I want to be somewhere else other than here, to be someone else other than this Karla Bernardo. It's not exactly because my life sucks or anything. In fact, nothing's really wrong. It's just that sometimes it can be very exhausting being myself. I know it's weird but sometimes I can't help but feel that everything is just a front, that this whole sociable, friendly, excited girl is just a consequence of what is expected of me. Tucked deep inside me is a loner, a cynic, a rebel that cries out for her emancipation. I like being who I normally am, but I also want to be out of character at times, with no questions asked, just because.
I just want to escape the monotony for a while.
//
But no, I'm not emo. I'm just sleep-deprived, I guess. Thankfully, not that cash-deprived though. I will be claiming my GSIS check on Tuesday. Hello, financial assistance! Which is why I bought a Christmas gift for myself today. Nothing says Merry Christmas like a new pair of shoes :) Btw, your questions have been answered. Finally, haha! :)
Labels: creative nonfiction
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There is a light that never goes out.
Thank you very much, The Smiths.
It's during sleepless nights like this when I have the strongest desire to drive away to some place and just escape. I want to explore the night, turn up the speakers, take in the city lights, soak myself in the culture. I want to leave with no direction in mind, run away with no plans, go out with uncertainty. I want to be someplace else where I can lurk in the dark, with no one knowing who I am, where I can be someone else other than myself.
I want to read poetry in a dimly lit cafe; to make tangible the words I've written in my journal during my most vulnerable moments. Would they make more sense said out loud, when other ears finally take a hold of them? Or would they shatter into pieces and lose their very essence? I would throw my words to the universe and pray that they come back to me one day after everything else has fallen into their places.
I want to vandalize on walls along main avenues, painting out song lyrics that speak so much about the things we can't normally say. It'd exhilarating, writing them out for all the world to see, and it'd be thrilling, the possibility of getting caught. There would be a curious excitement in me, wondering if there is anyone out there who relates to the song the same way I do.
I want to sit in one corner of a bar with a lively underground band playing songs with mundane words about life and love. I would desperately try to figure them out as I ask the bartender for my third martini. I would then walk upstage voluntarily when they ask if anyone wants to sing along to their cover of The Cure's Pictures of You, only to position myself on the piano and completely upstaging the band.
I want to dance on stage and be a ballerina again. On my toes I'd be doing pirouettes in Swan Lake, swaying gracefully to the music of Tschaikovsky. With only my body as my instrument of interaction, I would weep as Odette with no tears, I would enrage as Odile with no screams. The curtains would rise and fall and in every scene I would be a different persona, traipsing from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other.
I want to feel sand in between my toes as I walk along the shores of the beach. The moon would shine its glow on me, calling me out onto the sea as if I was her daughter. I would dip my feet into the water, resisting the urge to jump in at first but only to find myself giving in to the call of the waves. It would be dark and mysterious but the allure of the unknown would entice me and I would find myself calmed in the ocean.
I want to be somewhere else other than here, to be someone else other than this Karla Bernardo. It's not exactly because my life sucks or anything. In fact, nothing's really wrong. It's just that sometimes it can be very exhausting being myself. I know it's weird but sometimes I can't help but feel that everything is just a front, that this whole sociable, friendly, excited girl is just a consequence of what is expected of me. Tucked deep inside me is a loner, a cynic, a rebel that cries out for her emancipation. I like being who I normally am, but I also want to be out of character at times, with no questions asked, just because.
I just want to escape the monotony for a while.
//
But no, I'm not emo. I'm just sleep-deprived, I guess. Thankfully, not that cash-deprived though. I will be claiming my GSIS check on Tuesday. Hello, financial assistance! Which is why I bought a Christmas gift for myself today. Nothing says Merry Christmas like a new pair of shoes :) Btw, your questions have been answered. Finally, haha! :)
Labels: creative nonfiction
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She's a modern lover; it's an exploration, she's made of outer space
Hello, I'm Karla Bernardo. If you Google my name, you will find the Wikipedia entry of a Canadian serial-killer (and trust me, you do not want
to read about that - but I'm sure you will because now you're curious), which is why I suggest you type Bombastarr instead so you can stalk me better.
I spent eight-and-a-half years of my life in the University of the Philippines, where I graduated with degrees in Creative Writing and Juris Doctor. It is also where I learned how to speak a bit of Italian, got a taste of the best tapsilog, and took striptease for PE.
I love telling stories, as much as I enjoy finding them.
____Want more?
Featured Works
Stargirl ( Cover story for Nadine Lustre, Scout, January-February 2017)
Surreal / So Real (at Scout)
Ode to a Great Love's 17-year-old Self ( Love.Life, Philippine Daily Inquirer)
Postcard from Diliman
( Youngblood, Philippine Daily Inquirer)
Writer for Philippine Law Register
A Call to Arms (January 2017)
Expecting the Expected (March 2016)
Former Writer for Stache Magazine
The Hero's Journey (June 2013)
The 8 People You Become In Your Youth (June 2013)
The Best Bad Idea That Is Argo (April 2013)
Mike Ross Remembers Everything You Don't (August 2012)
Style Between the Riffs (August 2012)
Book Lovers Never Sleep Alone (June 2012)
A Spectrum of Change (December 2011)
Digital Art (October 2011)
Elements of Style (June 2011)
In Her White Dress (All-Art April 2011 issue)
Morning After Pill ( Fervore: Literary Folio 2013, UP Portia Sorority)
How To Make a Blueberry Cheesecake ( Kalas: Kalasag Literary Folio 2011, UP College of Arts and Letters)
January 14th ( 100: The Hundreds Project, UP Writer's Club)
An Ode to The
Pillow Book (at New-Slang)
Introductions (at TeenInk)
One by One (at TeenInk)
Ask, and you shall be answered
Got a comment, question, violent reaction, love letter, or random piece of information you want to share with me? Just fire away. I don't bite.
(I changed my form and went back to Freedback because Ask.fm's being a bitch, requiring people to sign up for accounts before asking questions. Because I love you guys, I tweaked my ask box a bit, so that the questions will now go directly to my e-mail, but I'll be posting the answers still on my Ask.fm for convenience. TL;DR - I'll still be getting your questions so no worries. You're still free to harass me / send me your love.)
Answers
Most Frequently Asked QuestionAre you a pornstar?No, I am not a pornstar, stripper, or your friendly neighborhood call girl. It's just a fancy pseudonym with a long history, and two R's. Rawr.
Bombastarr.com
Bombastarr is my personal blog and my little corner in the Internet since 2005. Yes, I started writing here when I was 13 years old (aka when I was very angsty, hormonal, and always gushing at the littlest things) -- ergo, you'd have to forgive me if you come across an old post that reeks of immaturity and slightly unpolished grammar. I did a lot of growing up here, and from the looks of it, there's still a lot of growing up to do, so I don't think I'll be leaving this place any time soon.
The domain, Bombastarr.com, was purchased on June 2014 and
launched on July 2014, on the blog's ninth year (and fifth month, to be exact).
It's crazy to think that this blog is now thirteen years old, because (1) that seems like an eternity in internet years, and (2) that means if my blog were a kid, it's a teenager! That's insane.
Here's to more tales, explosive and otherwise.
So, why Bombastarr?
If you've been living under a rock and think I'm a threat to world peace or an object of covetousness, sorry to disappoint you, folks: it's just a fancy pseudonym.
As in most things, it started in high school. It began as a joke between me and a couple of friends during our freshman year. We were practicing for a field demonstration dance which involved the use of shawls, and being the crazy-always-trying-to-be-funny person that I was (or I always attempted to be) I started doing poses with the garment. Someone started taking my picture using my phone, and one shot looked like I was posing for those B-list movies (or should it be R-list, as in R-rated?) of the vegetable-nomenclature variety. #IKYWIM. Hence, the word, "Bombastarr." Yes, very cheeky, I know, but for a 13-year-old, it was quirky enough to figure as a username. That was 2005, right around the time I trying to decide on a URL for a new blog. It's been a lot of years since, and what started as a joke became something I've eventually embraced as an identity.
Despite the many other chances I've gotten to permanently move (to Multiply, Livejournal, Tumblr, Wordpress; to a bigger platform where I can earn or use the blog as a venue for commerce), I've come to realize that Bombastarr is something I can never truly leave behind. It is a place I've grown to appreciate and love because it is a place I can call my own. It's a venue for my rants, my views, my writing. It is home, and it is who I am.
Bombastarr is a glimpse of my life: the thoughts, ideas, and stories that shape it into what it is, and what it will still become. This journal has been with me for all my crazy, often embarrassing adventures, but I'm sure there will be more anecdotes and feelings and people to write about. Which is something I'm really looking forward to. After all, you know what they say about the greatest stories - sometimes, there's still a lot that's left unwritten.
Credits and thank you's
This blog is hosted by PhilHosting.net, and powered by Blogger. The layout is coded entirely by me.
Photo hosting: TinyPic, Photobucket
Question box: EmailMeForm, Ask.fm
Copyright © BOMBASTARR
Elsewhere, she wanders
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